


Wicked Whispers

by the_random_writer



Category: Cut & Run - Madeleine Urban & Abigail Roux
Genre: Food, Gen, Medication, Minor Injuries, Sleeptalking, Sleepwalking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 20:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14244774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: A short story from the Sidewinder days, when the team was still together and stationed abroad.Nick and Kelly have some silly and mostly-harmless fun at a semi-unconscious Ty's expense.Anyone who has ever read online sleeptalking stories may recognize some of Ty's lines. They were too good not to use :-)





	Wicked Whispers

"Jesus, Doc, when you said that stuff would knock Grady out, you weren't kidding," Nick approvingly said, gesturing at the other couch, which was covered in Ty's slumbering form.

Next to him, Kelly shrugged and grabbed a handful of chips from the bowl. "The nurses down at the medical centre don't call it Adult Calpol for nothing."

"Pity it's a prescription thing, and we can't buy the stuff right over the counter. Would be good to have a few packets on hand for whenever Ty has one of his turns."

"Is that what we're calling them now?" Kelly asked, eyebrows raised.

Nick frowned. "Is that what we're calling what?"

"Ty's uncooperative asshole with an injury moments. Turns."

"Unless you can think of something better, yeah, turns."

"I'll talk to Jane at the pharmacy, see if she can hook us up with a packet or two of the stuff on the side. She dated Ty for a couple of months last year. She knows how irrational he can be when he's hurt."

Nick snickered into his beer. "That's a generous way to describe it."

"What?"

"Dated," Nick explained, making quote marks in the air with his fingers. "Don't think there was a whole lot of wining and dining going on."

"Yeah, but saying they boned each other's brains out for a couple of months sounds _way_ less classy."

"And the Sidewinder guys are nothing if not classy, right?"

Kelly lifted his beer in salute. "Preach."

As they watched, one of the classy men in question muttered and rolled onto his back, leaving him facing into the room. He was more or less sleeping, but he didn't look entirely relaxed.

"Just hope the stuff isn't giving him really bad dreams," Nick said, his brows furrowed in genuine concern. The Adult Calpol had put Ty out without triggering an allergic reaction, but that didn't mean it was sitting well. He didn't want his friend to wake up feeling like he'd spent the night trapped in some kind of drug-induced hell.

"Sure he's fine," Kelly said.

From the couch, another mumble, louder and clearer than before, bordering on a coherent phrase.

Nick cocked an ear. "What'd he just say?"

"Something about an order," was Kelly's opinion. "Wasn't really listening, so didn't quite make out the rest."

"I said I'm ready to order," Ty announced, still sound asleep, in the calmest and most rational voice his fellow Sidewinders had ever heard.

Nick looked at Kelly, who snickered softly and looked right back.

"He's ready to order," the Corpsman repeated, a naughty grin spreading across his face.

"And we both know we should _never_ keep a customer waiting."

"Not if we want him to leave us a half-decent tip."

"So, you wanna make the opening move, or shall I?"

Kelly shook his head. "You're the one who bunks with him, and you took him to the medical centre to get his arm fixed, so it wouldn't be fair for me to take the first shot." He waved at the sleeping man. "He's all yours."

Nick slid forward to perch on the edge of his seat and lean in close to Ty's right ear. "You said you're ready to order?" he prompted, keeping his voice gentle and calm. He knew that if he spoke too loudly, or used more than a handful of words, he would probably wake his best friend up. And if Grady woke up, how the hell would he and Kelly have their (mostly harmless) fun then?

Ty nodded, swallowed, frowned and mumbled, "Yeah."

"What would you like?"

"Doctor Pepper 'n a burger."

Nick huffed. That wasn't even remotely strange. _Come on, Grady, I know you and that lump of coal you call a brain. Being drugged to the gills and having ten stitches in your left arm's no excuse for a sub-standard performance, okay? Free the squirrels and try again._ "What do you want on the burger?" he asked.

"Cheese," Ty said.

Still pretty dull. "What kind of cheese?"

Ty smiled in his sleep. " _Slutty_ cheese," he teasingly whispered.

"Slutty cheese?" Nick repeated, trying not to laugh. Okay, _now_ , the squirrels were pulling their weight.

"Filthy, dirty, _slutty_ cheese," Ty confirmed. He let out an alarmingly lustful sigh—the type he usually reserved for strippers, muscle cars and guns. "Pour it all over the meat. Hmm, yeah, just like that. Spread it everywhere for me. Oh, baby, that's _really_ good."

From the couch, Kelly whispered, "I don't think the meat he's dreaming about is a burger."

Nick scrunched his face in disgust. "Yeah, but what kind of moron wants melted cheese all over his _dick_?"

"The fuck should I know? Maybe it's a thing where he's from."

"Except he's from West Virginia, not Wisconsin."

Kelly shrugged and swigged from his beer. "Maybe he's always had some skeevy urge to make a pepperoni roll with his dick. Those are from West Virginia, right?"

An image popped into Nick's head, of his best friend's junk as the delicate, West Virginian filling in a flaky, fluffy piece of bread. He shook his skull, to no avail; the image had burned into his brain. _Welp, guess who's never eating a pepperoni roll ever again in his life._ "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure they don't have cheese in them," he said. "Just some kind of spicy meat." Not that he was an expert on shitty, Appalachian snacks.

"Maybe he's _saying_ cheese when he _means_ meat."

"Or maybe it has nothing to do with food," Nick tetchily pointed out. "Maybe it's just the way his unconscious brain's stringing information together."

"Good point, yeah."

"I want a hat," Ty proclaimed.

Nick froze, momentarily not quite sure of where to go next. "What kind of hat?" he calmly enquired.

Ty grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "A cowboy hat," he proudly revealed. "With a purple propeller on it."

"Pretty sure we can do that."

"Have I told you how much I love propellers?"

"Who doesn't love a good propeller?"

Ty giggled like a five-year-old girl. "That was pretty slutty."

Nick rolled his eyes. Slutty was obviously going to be the main theme tonight. "You need to pay for your burger," he sternly reminded his friend. With or without the promiscuous cheese.

Ty huffed. "I can pay," he said in an offended tone, still absolutely asleep.

"How would you like to pay?" Kelly asked.

"With _farts_."

Nick struggled to smother his snort. "Sorry, but I'm afraid we can't accept farts," he eventually managed to say. He felt that was fair. He'd roomed with Ty for the last seven years, so he'd heard and smelled enough Grady gas to last a lifetime. "Cash, debit or credit card only."

Ty blew out another huff. "What kind of gun store doesn't let you pay for your stuff with farts?" he demanded to know, then muttered, " _So_ un-American."

Oh, so they were in a gun store now?

"Sorry, but we're not in America, sir," Nick sternly advised. Not _technically_ true, since they were on a US base, but the base was in Germany, so it wasn't really an outright lie, either.

"But I don't want to live in Canada," Ty almost whimpered.

 _Follow the breadcrumbs_ , Nick reminded himself. _They might not go in a logical line, but whatever you do, don't wander away from the path._ "What's wrong with Canada?" he asked. He almost added, 'other than the obvious things'.

Ty pouted and frowned. "It doesn't have enough clown schools."

On the couch, Kelly started to laugh like a jackal, grabbed a cushion, and stuffed it over his face.

Grinning, Nick asked, "Is that a problem?"

Instead of answering the question, Ty let out another girlish laugh. "Damn, girl, shut your ass. The house is _cold_."

Before Nick could join the dots, Ty's face went completely and totally blank. In a quiet, deeply disturbing voice, he said, "That's _my_ yoghurt, Satan."

Kelly leaned over to whisper, "So, it's not just the cheesemakers, then. He's got it in for any general manufacturer of dairy products."

Now it was Nick's turn to smirk. "I thought you didn't like that movie."

"Not a huge Monty Python fan, but even I'll admit that was a funny scene."

"Mother!" Ty suddenly exclaimed, so loudly that Nick reflex-reached for a gun. Fortunately, a gun he didn't have.

"Go on, then," Kelly urged, grinning again. "Be Tyler's mommy. Tell him you'll kiss his boo-boo all better."

Nick obeyed, but not before giving Kelly a dirty glare. "Mom's here, Tyler. What's wrong?"

"Fetch me my cape!"

Behind him, Kelly coughed as he breathed in a mouthful of beer.

"Thinks he's a goddamn superhero," Nick muttered to himself. To Ty, he said, "You can't have your cape, honey. It was dirty, so I had to put it in the wash."

"Unacceptable," was Ty's stone-cold reply. "After I kill you, I'm going back to clown school."

Just not in Canada, Nick assumed.

"Would it be really mean of me to point out that given how he fucked up his arm today, I'm pretty sure he's been to several clown schools already?" Kelly quietly put in.

Nick had witnessed the arm-fucking-up moment in question, so he wasn't about to argue with that.

Ty sat bolt upright on the couch, holding a pillow against his chest. His eyes were open, but Nick could tell from the slack expression and unfocused stare that their friend was still sound asleep.

"Okay, that's not even _remotely_ disturbing," Kelly muttered, pulling his feet up onto the couch.

Ty flapped his hands around his head. In his loudest, primmest soccer mom voice, he asked, "Could someone please take these tennis balls out of my hair? There's somewhere important I need to be."

Nick looked at Kelly, who shrugged and said, "Don't look at me, man. You've known him way longer than me."

"He doesn't even _like_ tennis," Nick complained. "The only time we ever played, he messed up jumping over the net, twisted his ankle and gave himself a massive black eye with the end of his racket."

"I want to fuck!" Ty hollered out.

Okay, _that_ one, Nick understood.

So did Kelly, who leaned over to ask, "Yeah, but with or without the slutty cheese?"

"I heard that, you know," Ty calmly said, turning to look them straight in the eye.

Nick and Kelly froze totally still. Had Ty woken up and come to his senses, or even worse, had he been faking it all along, and playing them both like a harp from hell?

"Heard what?" Nick innocently asked.

"I know what you want to do to me, and I'm sure as fuck not letting you do it."

"What do you think we want to do to you?"

Ty huffed and crossed his arms. "Just because my name is Pancake doesn't mean you're allowed to pour syrup on me before I'm ready to come out of the pan."

Behind him, Kelly heaved a sigh of relief. "Jesus, I thought he'd woken up."

"I love it when you make chocolate tacos," Ty wistfully declared.

"Is it just me, or is there a food theme developing here?" Kelly asked. "Burgers, cheese, yoghurt, pancakes and now tacos?"

"He tore up his arm just before lunch, so he hasn't eaten since first thing this morning. Maybe it's like when you're sleeping and need to pee, and all you dream about is going to the john. He's really hungry, so his brain's making him dream about food."

Ty stood up.

"The _puta de queso_ is mobile," Kelly hissed, sinking further into the couch. "I repeat, the _puta de queso_ is mobile."

Nick sat back in his seat and held up a warning hand. "Don't touch him or get in his way. Whatever he's doing, just let him work through it. He'll eventually either come to his senses or lie down somewhere and go back to sleep."

"What if he tries to head for the door?"

"We tackle him around the knees. But carefully, so it doesn't hurt."

"How the fuck do you _carefully_ tackle someone around the knees?" Kelly demanded.

Nick snorted. "You'd grown up in my neighbourhood, Doc, you'd know the answer to that one already."

He stood up to quietly follow Ty out of the lounge. To his relief, Ty didn't head for the door, but instead stumbled into their room, where he sat down on his bed, and started to unbutton his pants.

"What's he doing?" Kelly called out from the couch.

"He's getting undressed."

"That's okay, right?"

The answer might have been 'yes', except Ty didn't stop with his pants—his boxer shorts came right off as well. Nick grimaced and turned away. "Jesus, Six, I love you like a goddamn brother, and I know we're in Germany, but would it _kill_ you to keep your skin to yourself?"

Pants and boxers around his ankles, Ty sat back down on the bed.

Nick's warning bells started to ring. Something about the way Ty was sitting made him realize his friend thought he was somewhere else—somewhere involving a flushing throne.

"No, no, no!" he shouted, grabbing and violently shaking Ty's arm.

"What's happening?" Kelly shouted out.

Ty came awake in a flash, fists swinging, ready to inflict violence and pain on the first thing he touched. Unfortunately, the first thing he touched was Nick.

Nick groaned as Ty punched him right in the gut. He staggered slightly, slipped on the rug between the beds and fell on the floor with a bone-crunching thud.

 Ty stood up, fists swinging again, his man parts flapping around in the breeze, then made the fatal mistake of trying to step forward with his pants and boxers around his shins. He stumbled, cried out and pitched forward to land with an 'oof' on top of Nick, just as Kelly hurtled into the room.

Ever the sympathetic friend, Kelly started to cackle again. "Okay, stay right there. I _have_ to get a picture of this." He thundered off to the room he and Eli shared.

"Dammit, Doc, you take a photo of this, I will kick your traitorous, no-good, Navy ass from one end of this goddamn base to the other!" Nick hollered out from underneath his human sheet.

On top of him, Ty quietly groaned. "Irish, that you?" he mumbled. "The fuck are we lying on the floor?" He realized he was missing his pants. "Why the fuck am I rubbing you with my junk?" he cried. "The fuck are you sick perverts doing to me? You tryna glue a rubber glove on my dick again?" He rolled away, yelping as he landed on his wounded arm.

Kelly returned, polaroid camera in hand. He flapped his arms in disappointment. "Jesus, would it _kill_ you assholes to let me take one, lousy incriminating photo?"

Groaning, Nick rolled over onto his hands and knees, paused for breath, then slowly pushed himself up from the floor. "Sorry, bud, no can do. Guess the blackmail photos'll have to wait."

There was movement at the apartment door—it swung open to admit Digger, Eli and Owen.

Eli held up four, large bags of food. "Hope you're all hungry, cus we brought dinner."

The new arrivals strode to the room, looked in, and saw Ty rolling half-naked on the floor, groaning and holding his injured limb.

Digger gave his best 'fuck it' shrug, grabbed the bags out of Eli's hands and strode towards the kitchenette. "Not even gonna ask," he muttered as he left.

"What the fuck did you just do to Six?" Owen wanted to know. "When we left, he was falling asleep on the living room couch. Why the hell is he rolling around on the bedroom floor with his whities around his knees?"

"Long story," Nick explained. "Give me a hand, let's get him up onto his bed."

Ty's moment of mental awareness was over—he was back to semi-delirious again. "Are you here to give me my bath?" he asked. He giggled as he winked at Nick. "Hey, handsome, anyone ever told you, you have a real purty mouth?"

Kelly snickered, Nick rolled his eyes.

Owen wasn't _remotely_ impressed. "Next time, you two assholes go get the food, Digger and me'll look after Six instead." He squatted down to slide his hands under Ty's armpits, directing Nick and Kelly to grab a leg each. "On three, okay? One, two, three."

They hauled Ty up onto his bed and gently rolled him onto his side, facing into the wall. Nick took a couple of seconds to pull his friend's pants back into place, then carefully covered him with a blanket and sheet.

"That medication's evil stuff," Owen warned. "Works like a charm, but the time the nurse gave it to me, it made _me_ feel like I'd been hit by a psychedelic truck, so God only knows what it'll do to someone as baseline crazy as Six."

"It makes him talk and walk in his sleep," Nick explained.

"Really?" Owen said with a shit-eating grin. "What pearls of wisdom'd he come out with tonight?"

"Nothing exciting. Just a lot of talk about morally dubious dairy products."

"Dairy products?" Eli repeated.

"Don't forget the clown schools and hats," Kelly added, then wandered off in search of some food.

Owen held up an objecting hand. "You know what? On second thoughts, I don't wanna know." He beckoned Nick into the kitchenette. "He'll be fine. He just needs to sleep it all off. Come get some food. We stopped in at that bakery place on the way back, got you a box of those mini-sausage roll things you like."

Nick let out a quiet groan. He knew exactly what Owen meant. _Würstchen im Hefetig_ —the German version of Pigs in a Blanket, or if you came at it from another direction, the German version of pepperoni rolls.

The Ty's-dick-wrapped-in-pastry image pushed its way back into his head.

For all that his stomach was growling, why did he suddenly _not_ want to eat?

 


End file.
